


Poison

by shadowjourney15



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chara and buttercups, Flower Crowns, Gen, Kind of a prequel?, Not really graphic, Pre-Undertale, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 04:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10403451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowjourney15/pseuds/shadowjourney15
Summary: He sits the golden crown atop my head and then does the same for himself."You can be the prinx, and I'll be the prince!"He giggles with a goofy smile."This is silly, they're not even real crowns."I frown, petting the delicate yellow petals of our handmade, woven golden flower crowns.His white, soft paws have yellowish residue on them from putting these together. The bandages on my hands, once white and red, now had a new color to the mix. The same yellowish gunk that stained his paws as well.I tap absent-mindedly at the make believe crown and ponder about these flowers that Da- King Asgore adores, the same flowers I too, tend to in our garden.





	

Golden flowers interweaved with each other, a poisonous crown for a toxic waste of flesh and life. It sits atop my head, gently, lightly.  
All I do is attempt a smile (too crooked, too toothy) and say to him "thank you" (voice cracked, almost too quiet to hear).  
He either doesn't notice, or doesn't care at this point. He smiles, a gentle, genuine smile, and continues weaving flowers of the garden together. I continue slashing through weeds and unwanteds with my dulled down garden knife. Preening and gardening and slashing and getting my hands dirty.  
The motions, the routine, it helps calm me, helps my thoughts stay quiet and ordered.  
"So," he says, dragging out the word awkwardly.  
"Should I make a crown for Mom and Dad too?"  
I raise my gaze and meet his eyes, I frown disapprovingly.  
"They already HAVE crowns, Ree. Why would they want more? Much less ones made of FLOWERS."  
He lowers his head, eyes looking up at me like a kicked puppy. His gaze lowers to the just finished crown sitting in his lap, and the one clenched in his paws, just started.  
"How about a shirt or something?" I finally speak up (the silence between us hurts).  
"We can earn some gold, buy a shirt or sweater.."  
"Mom has a book on knitting and a bunch of yarn! You should make one, Chara!" He exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.  
He looks so silly like that. It's kind of cute too, but I don't say that. Instead I say,  
"Yeah right, Ree, like I know how to knit! Maybe a messed up scarf or hat, but a whole sweater? We'd be better off trying to bake a pie or cook soup without burning the house down."  
His eyes light up and a familiar expression crosses his face.  
"I know some fire magic,"  
"You idiot, you can't even light a torch or stick! How would you keep a stove lit?"  
He's still grinning, so happily, so naive, so full of love. I don't deserve him. I don't deserve them.  
"And we've helped Mom make Butterscotch Cinnamon pie before! She's got the cookbook right in the cabinet next to the sink! Please Chara, can we try?"  
I huff and cross my arms, turning away.  
"You're so clueless, Ree. Mo- I mean Toriel won't let us cook without her supervision. She'd get real mad I bet if she found us trying to make something alone. Grounded for at least a week! No gardening, no TV, no games. Just more homework to pile on us."  
I puff at my unruly bangs swaying in front of my eyes and roughly push them behind my ears.  
He looks at me sadly, yet he continues. Why?  
"They'll be out all day tomorrow again, we can do it then."   
Why does he want this so badly?  
"Dad's birthday is coming up too. We can surprise him with his favorite!"  
Asriel, you idiot. You're too kind.  
...Never change...  
Before he can go on, I fold. I fling my arms up dramatically and then around him. I tug and play with his long, soft ears.  
"Fine," I give what he calls my 'scary face'.  
"But if they get mad, it was all your idea, and you take the blame!"  
He smiles and shoves me back as I ruffle his head.  
"Haha! Okay Chara! It'll be fine, I promise!"  
...  
It was not alright.  
I furiously work my fingers red, using all the yarn and books about knitting to make Da- King Asgore a sweater.  
Tears well up in my eyes every now and then; whenever I pause I think back to that stupid day, with that stupid idea that we stupidly tried to do. Idiot. He promised. Not that it matters now. It's broken.  
Now all that's left is to try to smooth things out.  
Starting with this lumpy, awkward pink sweater that says "Mr Dad Guy" on it.  
I chew on my nails and fingers, gnawing away at the bandages, as I stop to think.  
What else to make this better? How do I make this work? Will it even fit?  
...He probably won't even like it...  
After all, it looks nothing like a regal king would wear, as "fluffybuns" and soft he may be.  
I stop my incessant gnawing when I see traces of flesh warm blood trickling down my fingers, onto my palms, dribbling on the floor a bit.  
I carefully wrap the sweater back up and shove it under my bed and make my way to the bathroom to clean up.  
I don't want to have to explain why I'm bleeding to anyone. Again. Especially not him.  
I pass him in the hallway, I forcefully avert my gaze and dash into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I slump to the floor against the door and bring my knees to my chest. My head drops onto my knees; I'm clutching my head, insults and ugly thoughts parading around my brain, taunting me. Mocking me.  
What kind of person could do something like that?  
Not a person, I grit my teeth and grind them together to stop myself from laughing, a demon.  
I'm a demon.  
My fingers brush against the buttercup flower crown he made for me. I grasp it tightly and yank it off my head, lifting my arm in preparation to toss it to the floor.  
I hesitate.  
Buttercups. Poisonous enough to almost kill the King of Monsters.  
I twirl the crown in my hands, plucking some petals off. Experimentally, I pop a few in my mouth.  
My face scrunches up. They taste pretty gross.  
I place a few more in my mouth and let them soak in my saliva.  
My gag reflex kicks in and I barely manage to keep it down by holding a hand against my mouth. I swallow.  
As I'm doing this, a plan begins to formulate in my mind.  
The question is, I think to myself with a dark, toothy grin; can I trust him?  
...  
I trust him. He's reluctant at first, but he trusts me. Undoubtedly.  
It's finally time, I whisper to no one in particular one night, for monsters to go free.


End file.
